


Pierce My Soul

by redheadgleek



Category: Glee
Genre: Actor Blaine, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Broadway!Klaine, Fashion Designer Kurt, Jane Austen Sings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgleek/pseuds/redheadgleek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After meeting Kurt, the costume designer for the up and coming musical Jane Austen Sings, Blaine instantly regrets his hard-earned rule of not dating cast or crew. He briefly considers setting it aside, but he reminds himself sternly, it's a rule for a reason. He doesn't need the distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pierce My Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [threepwillow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threepwillow/gifts).



> Endless thanks to my beta [ACHolloway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ACHolloway) for her patience in guiding me through my problem spots.
> 
> Also, special thanks to the [todaydreambeliever's blog](http://todaydreambelieversfic.tumblr.com/) for sponsoring this fic exchange.

* * *

The appearance of the small store with a bright yellow sign proclaiming “Cleaner Threads” feels like a miracle as Blaine rushes down the sidewalk. His sleeve — now in two — flaps behind him. His train had run late, and the addition of the torn sleeve nearly had in him tears. He hesitates briefly at the door, wondering if he really has the time, pondering his other options (there are none, except auditioning in his undershirt), but the sign propped in the window convinces him: “ _Can’t get it up?? We can! We do zippers. Same day alterations._ ” He pushes open the door.

Inside, he is greeted by a blast of air-conditioning and a waft of cleaning chemicals but the counter in front of the lines of garment bags is unmanned.

“Excuse me, may I help you?” He startles at the man near his elbow; he hadn’t noticed the small room equipped with a sewing machine off to the side. In other circumstances, he might have focused on the man’s clear eyes and striking jawline. Today, however, his mind clenches anxiously.

“Oh! Hi! Uh, I, um, my sleeve ripped and I had hoped that you, or someone really, could maybe fix it?”

“Hmm.” The man slides closer, fingering the fabric.

“Your sign says same day alterations, but I’m almost late for an audition and there’s not enough time to go back home or buy a new shirt or—”

“As expected, it tore along the grain; it usually does and lucky for you, it’s not in a place that will mess up the pattern. See? A few slip stitches should do fix it. May I?”

Blaine unfastens the buttons and shrugs the shirt off, handing it to the tailor.

“It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to fix, if you want to take a seat.”

Blaine sits gingerly in the chair outside of the small sewing room. Bolts of fabric drape over a mannequin and pincushions cover nearly every surface. He tries not to fidget or think about the ticking clock in the background. He doesn’t succeed.

“How did it happen?” The man slurs around several pins in his mouth.

“Pardon?”

“The rip? I’m assuming not a shark attack. It’s been muggy enough recently that I wouldn’t be surprised if they became land animals”

Blaine smiles. “Something far more deadly — the turnstile.”

“Lemme guess — Broadway and 65th?”

“That’s the one.”

“I too, have almost been captured by those metal claws. It ate my favorite scarf this winter.”

“Oh no!”

“An Alexander McQueen. You can still see the remnants if you look closely, little skulls staring vacantly out at the passerbys. I found it on ebay for a steal; it was one of my best purchases. There was a stain in the corner, but lucky for me, I know how to get virtually any stain out of textiles. It was not nearly as bad as trying to remove purple slushie out of cashmere.”

“Purple slushie?”

“Mmm,” he pursed his lips and nodded his head, “high school and me were not a good combination in jock-dominated Ohio.”

“That sounds sticky.”

“It was. And cold. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the feeling of ice slithering down my back. And, there! I think that will do.”

He hands the shirt to Blaine. The stitches are tiny, making a nearly invisible seam down the sleeve.

“It’s perfect. Wow. You can hardly see it.”

“It’s really only a temporary fix — the thread will loosen after a few times in the wash. I’d recommend that you bring it back after your audition — I could alter the sleeves, add a panel of black and set it off with black piping — oh, and I could add the same piping to the collar!”

“I— sure.”

“But here I am, running my mouth off and you have an audition! Here —” He slides the shirt over Blaine’s shoulders and nimbly starts fastening the buttons. Blaine’s breath hitches; the man seems unaware of their close proximity. “There.” He pats and smooths, running his hands down Blaine’s chest briefly. “Ok! I think you’re ready to go.”

“I— thank you. You have no idea how you have saved me. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. No, no no,” he waves off Blaine’s offers and ushers him towards the door, a hand seeping warmth in the small of his back. “Consider it on the house. Although if you wanted to dedicate your Tony or Grammy to me after you nail your audition, I won’t complain. I’ll take all the credit.”

He winks and waves as Blaine stumbles out the door and starts down the street again.

He glances down at his watch in surprise. Only a few minutes have been passed since he entered the cleaners — he can still make it to his audition if he sprints. It’s only when Blaine arrives at the building, turning the handle to the theater door, that he realizes that he never caught the man’s name.

When he returns a few days later for callbacks, he is unable to find the little shop with the sunny sign. He is more disappointed than he should be for such a short interaction.

* * *

Once upon a time, Kurt Hummel learned to sew. His first memory involves his teddy bear and a torn off ear, and his mother tucking him to her side as she threaded a needle and stuck it firmly into the bear’s mohair fur. Before long, the ear was tacked on by nearly invisible stitches and Kurt begged his mom to teach him to do the same. He graduated from buttons before he was four, and brought a homemade bowtie to show and tell in kindergarten. Sewing required patience and a steady hand to make the stitches small and sturdy — lessons that he absorbed at her side without realizing their importance.

He continued sewing after her death. Her sewing machine was moved into his room; the pedal placed carefully so he could reach. He repaired his dad’s shirts while learning how to grill chicken. He spent his allowances and his weekends at Joann’s, shifting through fabrics, talking to the older women about grain and biases and thread tension (they might have thought he was adorable in his dedication. He thought them useful and was more than a little bewildered when a new woman cooed at him).

By the time he started high school, he had sewn or altered his entire wardrobe. It was heavier on inspiration from Marc Jacobs and Alexander McQueen than what would be expected from a boy from Ohio, but Kurt’s vision had always extended beyond Ohio. He preened in front of the mirror as he buttoned his shirt and slid into patterned pants — and cried helplessly hours later when those same clothes were stained with Red Dye 40 and putrid food particles.

A lesser man would have responded by switching to t shirts and jeans: that was never Kurt Hummel. Instead, he straightened his back and invested in fabrics that were more stain-resistant and bitterly dreamed of future times when he would be the one in power.

He joined the glee club where more often than not, he sang in the chorus and helped attach petticoats to skirt flounces. He survived and in important, almost unobservable ways, he thrived. When the rejection arrived from NYADA, an acceptance letter from New York Institute of Fashion was already perched on the family mantel.

New York City might have been a different experience than he had anticipated, but it was still everything that he had hoped for. His internship at vogue.com under the tutelege of Isabelle Wright expanded his portfolio and his sturdy job at a nearby dry cleaners with a title of “Alterations Tailor” provided the roof over his head while he studied. There might have been a small twinge at the loss of his previous dreams of being a Broadway star; the framed degree in Theatrical Design helped ease that twinge.

His dream job, that perfect job that would make him a breakout name, has yet to materialize, which is why, after a mundane day only made brighter by a too-short flirtation with a dark-haired, rather forlorn customer with irresistible puppy eyes, he listens to Rachel’s update on her latest musical.

“You remember me telling you that Jesse and I hosted a dinner last year for up and coming Broadway composers? We’ve had drinks with Benji and Justin several times since then. Since Dear Evan Hansen won a Tony three years ago, I've dreamed of collaborating with them. I had to keep this secret for the last six months, but we secured funding last month and the play is a go!”

“That’s amazing, Rachel.”

“Jesse was the first choice for director; he's such a natural leader. We held the first auditions tonight. The role of Jane Austen will be mine, obviously. The auditions were open, of course, but everybody knows that part was written for me — who else could portray the heartache finding success from your dreams and having those dreams dashed prematurely? I’m going to kill the deathbed scene, with my fingers clenched around a pen, trying to get the last words of my best novel to page before I die.”

He refrains from rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing in it. You’ll have to remind me when opening night is and I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“Well, I certainly hope you’ll be there earlier than that. Kurt, we want to hire you.”

“What?”

“As the costume designer. Of course, since we are a small company, it’d be just you for the first while, but if we move to Broadway in a year like I’m sure we will, we’d hire an assistant.”

“Rachel, wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You’ve been such a rock for me, Kurt, all these years. I can’t ever repay you for all the time you spent listening to my monologues and now that I am on the verge of my big breakthrough, it’s the least we... I can do. Your work is exquisite and it’s time that the world knew that.”

“I’d be honored. Thank you.”

“It may not be the same as what we had dreamed in high school, but we’ll get to share the stage together. And just think of it, you get to dress Mr. Darcy. Well, not Mr. Darcy, since it’s based on Persuasion, but you get the gist. Men in period costumes. Although I had the best idea last night — we should add some steampunk elements to it, I just love the aesthetic of brass lighting and metal and leather. Wouldn't that just pop?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Steampunk is Victorian and not Regency. There were no engines in Jane Austen’s time. No.” He states firmly.

“Maybe just a little inspiration—”

“No. Send me the script in the morning. I’ll get you some designs this week.”

He can hear her deflate over the phone. “Fine. I suppose you do know best.”

“Of course I do. Now let’s talk about budget. What do I have to work with?”

As he listens to his friend talk on, he latches onto that glimmer of hope — maybe, just maybe this will be that lucky break he needs.

* * *

If Blaine could, he would swing suitcases in each arm and belt out “I’ve Got Confidence” because after months of open auditions, and leads in off-off-off Broadway shows and bit parts in the chorus line of shows just off 42nd Street, he has a role, a lead role in an “up and coming” musical, one that has already caught the attention of critics across the city. There is the potential that it could flop before making it to stage — funding sources have been known to dry out before previews and opening night, but he refuses to acknowledge the possibility as he enters the theater for the first rehearsal.

He shakes hands with Jesse St. James who directs him to a circle of people clustered on the stage. Soon, there’s a flurry of introductions: Jane Hayward, fresh off the national tour of Hamilton, who would be Anne Elliot to his Frederick Wentworth, Rachel Berry as Jane Austen, Wes Montgomery as Jane Austen’s brother, Henry. Marley Rose he knows from a previous play a few months ago; she’ll be playing one of the sisters Musgrove, Louisa. He thrills at this opportunity to be working with these people that he’s admired for years.

“Attention, fellow actors, welcome to the first day of the rest of your life. I do not think that you have adequately ascertained that we are on the brink of a musical revolution. Jane Austen Sings will be a production that will bring reverberating waves crashing through the Broadway community for years to come. And you, because I had the foresight to select you, will be part of that revolution.”

“He certainly hasn’t toned down the dramatics.” Somebody mutters beside him. At Blaine’s glance, the unfairly gorgeous man leans closer and further explains, “Jesse. I knew him in high school. He was grandiose even then.”

Blaine laughs, and at the shushes, tries to cover it with a cough. “I’m Blaine.”

“Kurt. Nice to meet you.”

Blaine turns back to Jesse who continues his monologue of the vision of the production and tries to recall why Kurt seems so familiar. He casts his mind back over the last few months — he can't recall any productions where Kurt would have been involved.

Jesse drones on. “Jane Austen is timeless but rendering her works applicable to a modern audience requires a deft hand, youthful experience, and a broad vision, which I possess in abundance.”

He glances back at Kurt, who dimples a grin at him. His mischievous blue eyes are mesmerizing and Blaine instantly regrets his hard-earned rule of not dating cast or crew. He briefly considers setting it aside, but he reminds himself sternly, it's a rule for a reason and he will be working with this man for months to come if things go sour. He doesn't need the added drama.

“We’re very excited to introduce you to the creative teams who will be working with me to bring Jane Austen Sings to the forefront of Broadway musicals. You should know the names of Benji Pasek and Justin Paul, our lyricists and composers — they will be attending most rehearsals while adjusting songs over the next few weeks. You'll be getting to know Quinn Fabray better than your spouse over the next few weeks as the stage manager. Brad Ellis is the music director of our orchestra. He will be accompanying us on the piano during our rehearsals, you’ll meet the rest of the orchestra later.” Brad barely looks up from his piano to acknowledge the group, an already weary expression on his face.

“Sam Evans is our set designer. He recently graduated from Kentucky College of Art and Design. Artie Abrams is in charge of technical and lighting. He got a masters in architecture and lighting design at Carsons Academy and he recently was nominated for best lighting design for the revival of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Starlight Express.”

Jesse breezes through the introductions of the choreographer and artistic director (Blaine forgets their names as soon as he hears them. He will have to introduce himself later). “And lastly, Kurt Hummel, our costume designer. After we do the read-through of the script, Kurt will be taking your measurements for the costumes.” Kurt stands up briefly and gives a half wave to the group.

“You — you’re costumes.”

“Yep. I'm pretty handy with a needle. Fixing ripped seams for cute strangers...”

And it clicks. He flushes in mortification. “Oh god, that was you.”

“Yep. Looks like you made it to your audition. Congrats!”

“Thanks, it was a close call.”

Jesse wraps up his introductory speech with a flourish and a near bow. Blaine can't look at Kurt as they smother back giggles.

“Alright, Quinn is passing out scripts. We’ll start from Scene 1, where the Austen family are gathered around Jane’s deathbed.”

“And that's my cue to slink back into the corner.” Kurt stands. “It was a pleasure to meet you officially, Blaine.”

“Likewise. I, um, I guess I’ll be seeing you.”

“You will. Dressing you,” he glances down Blaine’s chest and bites his lip before meeting Blaine’s eyes again and blushing, shy and beguiling in one look, “is going to be fun. I have so many ideas.”

Kurt whirls away with another wave.

A cough nudges his attention back to the stage and Quinn hands him a script. Blaine searches through his bag for a pencil and flips the cover open to the first page.

“Wes, it’s your line.” Jesse intones. “You may begin.”

*~*

At the end of his first week, Blaine is beyond exhausted. There has been no gentle ease into the production; from the first, his days have been consumed with memorizing lines and songs. As one of the leads, he has 3 duets, 1 solo and 4 group songs with lyrics to memorize (that keep changing on a daily basis as Benji Pasek perfects them). The stage had been spiked the day before and today, Jesse had loudly reamed him for missing his marks. He doesn’t blame him for it — he knows he should be better, and he will be.

It’s just—it’s been an exhausting week and he’s still trying to fit in and make friends and he wants to go home and order greasy pizza and crash on his couch watching Captain America 4. Instead, he's headed to the basement for another fitting for his costumes. He’s hardly seen Kurt since that first day, when Kurt had wound measuring tapes around his torso and hips and inseam, his actions completely professional despite their earlier flirtations. Kurt had winked before moving onto the next cast member, but that had been the end of their interaction.

He knocks on the small door before entering. Kurt looks up from the sewing machine where reams of fabric cover every surface. “Blaine! Hi! Come in, come in!”

“Hi Kurt. I’m here for the fitting?”

“I'm afraid it's not that exciting, just the toiles that I'll use as the patterns. But I need to make sure the fit is right across your shoulders.”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

“I'll need your shirt and pants off. You can keep on your underwear. Men of that period wore drawers that are sort of like boxers — if boxers came to your knees and had ties on them, so it’s really not worth the effort to make you undergarments. Just make sure they are plain colors and won’t show lines.”

Blaine loosens his bowtie. “No superhero boxers, got it.”

“The girls, on the other hand, aren’t so lucky. The chemises and petticoats should be straight forward, but I have to make all of their stays. And they’re hand sewn because of the boning. Stand over here in front of the mirrors, please.” Kurt directs as he gathers garments.

Blaine removes his clothing and stands a little nervously in the corner as directed. Doing theater, one quickly abandons any notion of modesty, but the costume designers are usually not male and gorgeous and funny. Kurt seems nonplussed as he surveys Blaine.

“Good news for you: with your small waist, I won't need to fit you with one too.”

“With what?”

“A stay, which is what corsets were called.”

“A corset?” Blaine repeats in disbelief.

“Yep, men wore corsets too, although they usually called them a belt or something less effeminate. For a while, they actually cinched their waists even more tightly than the women — that fell out of favor real fast. Ok. First the shirt, arms up.” Kurt slides the shirt over Blaine, the sleeves billowing out.

“I thought I was a little familiar with the fashions, I mean, I've watched Pride and Prejudice. If that counts.”

“Colin Firth?”

“No, Matthew Macfadyen. I was thirteen, watching it with my mom, and we both let out this same sigh when he stepped out of the rain. I think that's when my mom first suspected that I wasn't straight.”

“Mr. Darcy has been known to make many a gay man swoon.” Kurt places pins, closing the shirt around Blaine’s neck. “That fits well. You won’t really be changing the shirt during the play, so we’ll stay with the high collar. I’ll add that later. Let’s get you into the breeches and stockings. I’m still deciding on fabric, so this is just to get the fit.”

“Is this what you've always wanted to do? Costumes?”

“No, at one time, I—” Kurt shakes his head and starts the story again. “I was just starting my junior year at NYIF and trying to decide on my major. I had this great internship at Vogue.com, which I loved, but menswear, which is what I was most interested in, wasn't really going anywhere. And then Hamilton came out. I lucked out and won the lottery, and — I couldn't get over how much story they told in the costumes. The story moved in time because of the change in fashion. And that was it. I still design an outfit here and there and I keep a column for Vogue, but my passion is theater.”

“You still work at the dry cleaners?”

“I do, yes. It pays the bills. There's as much competition in this town for costume designers as there is in acting. So I keep my skills up by doing alterations on all kinds of different fabrics and styles.”

They are silent for a few moments, as Kurt tugs and pins. “What about you? Is this what you always wanted to do?”

“I've always wanted to perform, yeah. I was in every play my high school put on, joined the glee club, went to a college with a prestigious reputation in theater — and promptly joined the scores of people who had done exactly the same thing.” He holds his arms out as Kurt slides a waistcoat around him and begins again in the pinning process. “I loved it all, even the smaller parts, but my dad has been sending me pamphlets on grad school options, so he’s relieved that I might be making it. He was disappointed that I didn’t go into finance or something more secure, so it’s nice to erase that ‘I told you so’ look from his face.”

Kurt slides a long piece of material around his neck and weaves it around, deftly tying it off in a bow. “‘Disappointing dads’ should be part of the official job description of actor. There. I think you’re dressed.” Kurt steps back, a pleased expression on his face.

Blaine turns around in the mirror. The material is mostly white linen, but the layers and pins have given him a silhouette that he’s only seen in movies. “Wow. I almost look like Mr. Darcy.”

“Almost. It’s not quite done. I haven’t even started on your coat, but this is a good start. I mean, it’s not going to be perfect. I could not convince them to add a cobbler to the budget. So it’s just going to be regular boots. But overall.” Kurt tugs on the waistcoat and steps back to circle Blaine again.

“It’s amazing, Kurt. Really.”

“Thank you.” Blaine is mesmerized by the rosy hue that stains Kurt’s cheeks at his compliment, but the moment is fleeting. “Oh my god, is that the time? I have to go, I have plans this evening.”

Blaine looks at the clock across the room. Over an hour has passed since he entered Kurt’s room. “Oh wow. Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“It’s okay, Kurt, really.”

“Let me get you out of this — careful of the pins.” Kurt moves quickly in reverse, carefully stripping Blaine of the clothes.

Blaine shrugs back on his clothes, leaving off the bowtie. “I— This was fun.”

Kurt beams as he redresses his mannequins. “It was, wasn’t it? I promise, I’ll try to babble less about Regency fashion on our next fitting. That should be next week? Same time?”

“Sure, that works for me.”

Kurt gathers his things, and holds the door open for Blaine. They don’t talk on the way up the stairs to the back entrance. After nearly two hours of conversation, Blaine feels off balance in the silence.

They pause at the doors. “I’m headed this way,” Kurt says, “bye, Blaine.”

“Bye.”

The evening seems dark and cold in Kurt’s absence. Blaine tries to remind himself that all he can offer Kurt — all that he wants from Kurt — is friendship, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping that tendril of desire to wrap his fingers around Kurt’s and walk with him to the subway.

His movie marathon is a little more lonely that night.

*~*

The weeks melt into days of long rehearsals. Some of Jesse’s bravado eases after a bit, when he stops feeling like he needs to validate his directorship. Behind his bluster, Jesse is a brilliant director, and watching his vision of Jane Austen Sings unfold inspires all of them to work harder.

Blaine can’t recall a time when he has had more fun. His fellow cast mates are warm and friendly, and already he has teamed up with Jane to prank Kitty Wilde, the actress portraying Henrietta Mulgrove— she screamed mightily when the furry stuffed mouse fell onto her head from her hat; Blaine is still nervous about the payback for that one. And he and Sam Evans, the set designer, have found the best hot dogs and burritos near the theater, which they snarf down in their short breaks. He joins in on the weekly cast and crew dinners that have formed. Working closely together fosters a feeling of family and Blaine’s so glad to have that with this team.

His friendship with Kurt has continued to blossom. They’re done with most of the fittings, but Kurt still comes up from the basement and watches backstage while sewing trim to ruffles or Blaine joins him downstairs at the end of the day to share the gossip. Kurt’s a frequent fixture in the weekly dinners as well, although it’s rare that he stays the whole time, especially now, several weeks into rehearsal.

It’s hard not feel the press of time, of the looming opening day just a few short weeks away. The pressures are different now that he has one of the lead parts — no longer can he waste away an afternoon helping put up set pieces in between his few lines. He’s acutely aware, in ways that keep him awake at night, of his flaws, and how a misspoken line can throw off the entire balance of the scene.

So, he finds himself at the piano, long after everybody has left, playing the piece with which he’s been struggling most. It’s the penultimate duet between his character and Anne Elliot, just before their long-awaited reconciliation; he missed his starting note four different times today.

He starts again:

> _Tell me not, oh tell me not,_  
>  _That such precious feelings are lost_  
>  _You pierce my soul and I suffer in half agony_  
>  _Half agony,_  
>  _Half hope._

“I thought I heard the piano.”

Blaine startles violently. “Kurt! I thought I was the only one here.”

“No, unfortunately. I’m behind in sewing. So I stayed behind to get some work done. You sounded nice.”

Blaine laughs hollowly. “I keep messing up. I know I’m holding this note here too long, and then I’m flat on the next bar.”

“Would it help if I sang it with you? I could sing Jane’s part.”

“Oh, I couldn’t presume.”

Kurt rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, “I promise you, I can read music and my voice isn’t that bad.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Why don’t we start from the beginning and see where you’re tripping up?”

Blaine plays the introduction and nods at Kurt who joins in. Blaine only just manages to not stumble on the piano at Kurt’s voice, clear and ethereal:

> _It is not the nature of any woman_  
>  _Who has truly loved,_  
>  _Truly loved._  
>  _I can only claim to loving longest,  
>  _ _Loving longest,  
>  _ _When hope is gone._

He nearly misses his entrance, so entranced is he by Kurt, but Kurt nods at the right moment and Blaine joins in. He breezes over his problem spots, his voice blending perfectly with Kurt’s. They rise in a crescendo and fades into the last line: 

> _I persist in loving none,  
>  loving none  
>  _ _But you._

Blaine lifts his fingers from the piano and stares dumbly at his friend, utterly undone by the beauty of his voice. “Don't say anything to Jane, but you sound much better than her.”

“Flatterer.” Kurt waves his hand in dismissal.

He’s never seen Kurt brush off a compliment before. “You should sing more, Kurt. Your voice is amazing.”

Kurt shrugs, shifting through the sheet music on the piano to find the beginning. “Singing is a hobby, that’s all. One that I pull out to smash the competition on karaoke nights.”

“I’m serious.” Blaine insists — surely Kurt must realize —

“So am I. It’s not for me.” Kurt replies firmly. “Want to run through it again?”

Another few times through, and a couple of times where Kurt taps the beat as Blaine sings acapella — Blaine’s conquered the piece. Elated, he engulfs Kurt into a hug, tucking his chin into Kurt’s shoulder. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. It was nothing.” Kurt keeps his hand on Blaine’s shoulder as they separate. “I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything tonight, if you might want to come over for dinner?”

“Kurt.” Blaine has reconsidered his policy, so many times in the last few weeks. Getting to know Kurt and the marvelous man that he is — that yearning for more is never far away. But. “I can’t. I can’t date coworkers. I can’t afford the distraction.”

“Distraction. Right.” Kurt pulls back, dropping his hand abruptly.

“No, wait. I like you, Kurt. You’ve been one of the best friends I’ve made here. But this is my chance to really make it and—”

“I understand. No, really, I do.” Kurt sticks his pinky finger out. “Pinky swear.”

Blaine laughs in relief. “Pinky swear.”

“But I should go.” He grabs his stuff and heads for the door, not waiting to walk Blaine out as has been his custom. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” There is a hollow spot in his chest with Kurt’s absence, an ache that he’s made a mistake. Blaine sighs and gathers his things. He could fall for Kurt — funny, graceful, charming Kurt, but he’d never forgive himself if it meant that he wasn’t devoting 110% to this show.

Life just isn’t fair sometimes.

* * *

Kurt can't resist lifting the heavy velvet curtain back and watching people file in. Fifteen minutes to curtain up and already the majority of the seats are filled. The review of last week’s previews in the New York Times and subsequent buzz had certainly helped ( _“While on the surface, the play revolves around the tragedy of Jane’s illness and early demise, it also reflects on our time and our apparent disconnect in the information age. This musical also serves as further proof that, as with Shakespeare’s plays, there is no need to ‘update’ Austen, for the themes of love, loss, loneliness, family relationships, and poverty are as relevant today as they ever were. This is reflected in the sets and the costumes with careful and accurate representation of the Regency era fashions, but with unmistakable modernism.”_ Kurt may have purchased several copies of that paper and sent one home to his dad). The audience murmurs in anticipation.

It has been an amazing ten weeks getting to opening night. He cannot count the number of hours spent on his sewing machine in the wings of the theater, sewing furiously and making endless adjustments and fittings. And now, here he is; here they all are. He gives a small wave at his dad, sitting proudly in the second row center, next to Carole and on the other side, Isabelle. Something clenches and releases deep inside at their support.

“Last minute jitters?” A voice breathed in his ear.

He smiles without turning around. Blaine has encompassed a large chunk of the last several months, beyond costume fittings and alterations. They had connected almost instantly, the easy flirtation that had been evident in their first meeting had blossomed into a friendship so close that Kurt barely could remember his life before Blaine entered into it. He tries to ignore that small twinge of heartache from his unrequited crush — Blaine was his own person and was allowed to choose who he fell in love with and their friendship was important just as it was.

“No,” he answers wistfully, “just a little envious. I miss being out there when the curtain rises and hearing the applause.”

“I didn't know you used to act.”

“In high school. It's how Rachel and I met. She got all of the lead roles and I didn't. We applied to the same school, NYADA. She got in and by that point, I was so frustrated with having to fight to have anybody notice me that I… Gave up, I guess. I chose a different school and a different major and now I'm here.”

He smiles wanly at Blaine. “I don't regret it. Not really. Just in moments like these when I wish it was me.”

He steps back and let's the curtain fall. Blaine’s expression is troubled. “Kurt—”

“Enough with that.” He interrupts smoothly. “Your cravat is crooked. Here.” Avoiding Blaine’s eyes, he straightens the deep red tie. He can't resist running him hands down Blaine’s chest, smoothing at the imaginary wrinkles. Blaine is so handsome in his costume — the double-breasted morning coat cut away high at his waist, showing off his trim waist, his breeches tight across his thighs, his hair curling around his temples. “Oh, I almost forgot—”

Kurt digs into his back pocket and brings out the small pocket handkerchief. “Regency morning coats don't have pockets, as you know, but I sewed a small one underneath here.” He tucks the square into the small hidden pocket and smooths out the faint crease. “For luck.”

“Kurt.”

“Break a leg, Blaine.”

Whatever else might have been said gets lost as the house lights dims and the applause rings out across the stage. Kurt steps back and hurries backstage. Show time.

*~*

The auditorium is empty as Kurt crosses backstage to collect items dropped in the frenzy of costume changes. Dimly, he hears the voices of the audience mingling in the front lobby as they exit the theater. The applause had been deafening and endless, with people on their feet before and long after the final curtain call. Rachel had hugged him breathlessly afterwards — Jane Austen Sings was now booked for at least a 6 month performance and it was likely that a transfer to a Broadway stage would be happening in the spring.

He pauses when he hears the scrape of shoes across the stage and peers around the set to watch Blaine as he crosses the room. He can’t help giggling as Blaine mimics holding someone’s hands and prances down the stage.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Blaine stops his spin and grins back at Kurt, his hair damp and loose from a recent shower. “I will be. Just going over this dance. I nearly ran into Rachel tonight because I turned the wrong way.”

“Personally, I thought you were perfect tonight. Your Captain Wentworth is going to be the talk of the reviews tomorrow.”

“Thank you. So were you.” He steps closer to Kurt.

“Me?”

“Your costumes are stunning, Kurt. This show would be nothing without them.”

He blushes as the praise and looks away from Blaine’s intense gaze. “I can’t help but pull focus, I guess.”

“Every time I got off stage, all I could see was you. And then this.” He pulls out the handkerchief, fingering the ♥KH♥ embroidered in the corner. “Kurt, there is a moment, when you say to yourself, ‘oh, there you are.’ Tonight, watching you as you dressed everybody and tied stays and cravats and told us all that we could do this, that was a moment for me. About you.”

His heart flutters with new hope. “But you said—”

“I know. I was wrong.” Gaze warm and intense, Blaine’s hands cup his cheeks. He sucks back a breath the instant before Blaine’s lips meet his, a gentle pressure that he melts into. He whines a little when Blaine separates, and this time, he leans forwards, seeking Blaine’s lips and warm mouth again, pulling him closer, threads his fingers through Blaine’s hair. Blaine’s hands are warm points of contact and security and Kurt doesn’t think he could ever get used to their feel on his face.

They break apart, Blaine a combination of giddy and bashful that Kurt has never seen before. He wonders if he is mirroring that same expression.

“We should— we should go. To the party.”

“Yeah, we should. Rachel would kill us if we missed it. But. Afterwards. I want to go to your place.” Kurt’s nervous suggesting it, hoping that he hasn’t misread signals.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Blaine surges in to kiss him again, lips hungrily sliding over his. They can be fashionably late, Kurt supposes, losing his train of thought as he claims Blaine’s mouth again.

Later, much later, after champagne toasts and giddy hugs and kisses from cast and crew, after congratulatory interviews and introductions to important sponsors and producers; after Blaine entwines their fingers and tugs him out into the dawning morning; after he draws Blaine down to the bed and explores him with fingers and lips and tongue; after Blaine caresses and cradles him in gentle arms, his eyes warm with love — after, when Blaine has fallen asleep, small puffs of breath against his collarbone, Kurt holds him close and thinks that maybe dreams do come true.

* * *

Blaine waves enthusiastically to the crowd. He steps back from signing a t-shirt and joins Laura Osnes in front of the camera. Laura holds a microphone and smiles brilliantly at the flashing lights. “And we’re here on the red carpet with Mr. Blaine Anderson, who is nominated for the first time for Best Supporting Actor in a Musical. Congratulations, Blaine!”

“Thanks, Laura. I’m honored just to be nominated. The other men nominated tonight are so talented. I am just grateful to be on the list.”

“That’s a very stylish suit that you are wearing tonight. Who’s the designer?”

Blaine beams and turns around, showing off the trim fit of his tux. “Thank you! I’m wearing a tux that my fiancé, Kurt Hummel, designed tonight. This is a personal creation, but he will be showcasing his line this fall.”

“He’s also nominated tonight, for costume design, correct?”

Given the opportunity, Blaine can’t resist gushing about his talented fiancé. “Yes! He designed all of the costumes for Jane Austen Sings — it was his vision that truly brought the show to life.”

“Will we get a chance to see those costumes in tonight’s show?” Laura asks.

Blaine nods in affirmation. “As one of the nominees for Best New Musical, we’ll be performing one of the songs, yes. It’s one of my favorites from the show and I hope it encourages the audience to come see us this summer.”

“Jane Austen Sings has 7 nominations tonight. How are you feeling about its chances?”

“Well, since it’s an off year for Lin-Manuel Miranda, better than last year!” Kurt appears at his side and kisses Blaine’s cheek.

“Kurt!” Blaine chastises, poking him in the side. “You can’t say that!”

Kurt waves and blows a kiss to the camera. “Lin knows that I love him.”

Laura laughs. “You two met on the set, is that correct?”

“Blaine never tells the whole story. We met just prior to that, when I swept in and rescued him from a ruined shirt prior to his audition for the show.” Kurt straightens Blaine’s necktie and smooths down the front.

Blaine gazes fondly at Kurt at the familiar gesture. “He did. I never dreamed that that encounter would lead to this.”

Laura gently directs their attention back to the camera. “What’s next for you both?”

Kurt takes the question, sliding his hand into Blaine’s. “Well, I’m planning on focusing on my menswear line for the next few months, as Blaine mentioned.”

“And I am working on an LGBT version of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf. I’m hoping to convince my fiancé to be my co-star. You should hear him sing, Laura.” He enthuses.

Kurt’s smile is soft. “It won’t take much convincing, but I still maintain that you’re biased.”

They're lost in their own world again. Laura squeezes their hands warmly. “Congratulations again on your nominations, both of you and best of luck.”

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Blaine needs some sort of specialized outfit, and Kurt is the tailor/designer who must fit him for said clothing. It can be a photoshoot or awards outfit for famous!Blaine, or a weird costume for struggling actor!Blaine, or really just anything!_
> 
> I know extremely little about theater and bringing a new musical to life, and only a little more about turn of the 19th century costumes and fashion. Google and ACHolloway helped make it semi-realistic - all mistakes are mine.
> 
> New York Institute of Fashion (NYIF) and Carsons Academy are as imaginary as NYADA. And like glee, I've mixed real-life people and characters. Benji Pasek and Justin Paul (aka Pasek and Paul) are pair of playwriters/composers (and friends of Darren) and have a play Dear Evan Hansen that will be heading to Broadway in November. It has not won a Tony (yet). Laura Osnes and Darren Criss co-hosted the 2015 Tony Awards, so I had to bring her back for the 2020 awards.
> 
> Art modified from [ gleedicted](http://gleeddicted.tumblr.com/post/51017175769/victorianerablaine), with clothing worn by Rupert Percy Jones in Persuasion (2007).
> 
> Song lyrics were adapted directly from Jane Austen's Persuasion (which may be my favorite novel of hers).


End file.
